


#9

by Lisafer



Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Gen, Scanran War, love potions, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:19:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2784692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waters become less muddy for Kel when Neal has her sample a potion - a clarifying draught. But there are always repercussions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#9

Kel made her way through one of the mages’ workshops at Fort Mastiff, examining the scrying mirrors and ingredients for potions. She let her mind wander as Neal explained the various uses for potions in a military setting. There were more important things to think about, after all – like the question of whether Lord Wyldon would be willing to give her five more soldiers after the last attack on New Hope.

“Try it,” Neal urged, handing her a small cup. “It will help you see more clearly.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I have griffin feathers. I don’t need potions like this.”

“It’s different,” he insisted. “This clarifies ideas, not images.”

She took a sip and was pleasantly surprised. Unlike other concoctions Neal had given her in the past, this tasted like nutmeg. She finished the drink and gave the cup back to him. “Is it supposed to take effect immediately?” She didn’t feel any different.

“It will take a while,” he assured her. “But I can guarantee that it will affect the way you see the world for the rest of the day. It’s illuminating.”

She shook her head, confused. “You never struck me as the kind of person who would experiment with mind-altering substances.”

“It’s not mind-altering, dear Keladry,” he drawled. “It’s mind-revealing.”

***

When Rengar took her to Lord Wyldon’s office, to go over her reports, she immediately realized that this young civilian had taken over Owen’s clerical and support roles in Wyldon’s life, but that he did not enjoy Rengar’s company as much as he had liked his squire’s. 

“You miss him, don’t you?” she asked when seated.

Wyldon poured a goblet of peach nectar. “Who?”

“Owen,” she said with a small smile. He was at Northwatch now, under another commander’s watchful eye.

“At times,” he admitted. She could practically feel the reservation in his tone. Had she always been so aware of the tugging and pulling of words as they came from his mouth? He gave them up almost unwillingly, as if each word was a revelation he didn’t particularly want to share.

She studied him, taking in various aspects she had noticed from the very first time she met him – his meticulously clean fingernails, the clothing that was so neat and practical. But there were other things that stood out: his ears were small. He had a fine scar along his neck. It could have been from the hurrocks so many years before, or perhaps some older unknown incident.

And his voice was kind. She’d always heard the firmness in it, the sound of command. But now she could hear the eastern accent in his vowels, she focused on certain consonants that were softer than she’d ever realized.

But most of all, she could almost hear the reluctance slip away from his words when he addressed her personally. He seemed to linger on her name, her title, as if it gave him a sense of pleasure. 

And she realized, more so than ever before, that her heart raced when she heard those words from his mouth. She liked the way his mouth curved into a smile when he said the last syllable of her name. Watching his mouth, she wondered what it would be like to feel his lips on hers. To hear him murmur her name as his dark eyes drifted shut and his hands ran over her bare thighs….

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” Neal said, barging into the office. “But Kel really needs to go to the mages’ workshops to get an antidote.”

Kel had forgotten how green Neal’s eyes were, or how they seemed to spark when he was desperate or panicked. 

“An antidote?” Wyldon repeated, his dark brows furrowing.

“I meant to give her a clarifying draught, but one of the ingredients was wrong – she’s had an aphrodisiac potion instead.” 

An expression of alarm crossed Wyldon’s face and he seemed to back away from her, even though he was still seated. “That explains her dreaminess – I don’t think she’s registered a word I’ve said. Take her away Queenscove.”


End file.
